Half A Conversation
by FullMetal Alchemistress
Summary: NOW A TWOSHOT Dick Grayson/Robin has a conversation with his parents. His REAL parents, on the anniversary of their death.  Response to a class assignment. Second part coming soon.
1. Dick

**GET IT YOUNG JUSTICE :D**

**I'm so bored without it sadface. I'm only taking 12 credit hours this semester in correge so I'm home most of the time. For those who don't know what credit hours are: It's the number of hours I'm in class total each week. Those of you in gradeschool: This is like going to school Monday and half of Tuesday and being done for the week :P)**

**Anyways, this was an assignment for my Creative Writing I class. We're working on dialogue, so the assignment was to write a monologue between a character and someone else who couldn't respond due to coma, death…etc.**

**(Any of you who have read my other stories probably know I fangirled over comas hahaha)**

I didn't know how to begin as I stood in front of the stones my foster father had paid for. The usual sweatshirt and jeans sheltered me from the gentle breeze. Any time I came here, it seemed so unrealistic, like pretend. But I hadn't been to see them in over a year and figured I should be there to see them on the 5th anniversary of their deaths.

"It's been a while," I muttered, bending down to brush the dead leaves away from the stones. "Not that you've noticed."

I sat down in between the graves and quickly glanced around. I was alone; the threat of rain lingering above in the charcoal sky shooed away any sensible person. I was anything but. The lack of my sunglasses, which were unneeded in the current situation, made me nervous. Not that I had a reason to be afraid.

The thought crossed my mind so suddenly that I felt the urge to confess the last few years of my life to these lifeless slabs of rock bearing the names of the only family I had.

"I can't decide," I started, "if you would approve or disapprove. If you would be proud or disappointed. I'm never in bed at a decent hour. I'm always scratched and bruised. I get into a lot of fights." Even though they couldn't hear me, I shifted uncomfortably.

"But I'm not doing anything bad," I mumbled quickly. "My foster father is paying for me to go to a private school. And even though I fall asleep sometimes, I'm still keeping my grades up."

A silence fell as I thought of something else to say. "I'm thirteen, now." Though, if they were listening, they probably knew how old their son was. "I have some awesome friends. I wish you could've…" Another silence fell, this one more awkward as I struggled with the words in my throat.

"I miss you guys," I whispered. "I miss you a lot. The man who destroyed our family was caught." I fidgeted with the hem of my jeans. "I wanted to kill him. For a long time. I still do, kind of."

I placed my head in my hands, suddenly ashamed, but unable to stop. "I wanted to hurt him like he hurt you. I wanted him to know what it feels like. I wanted him to suffer. Why should he get to live? Why…"

I pushed my hands through my hair and took a deep breath, but left my gaze on my lap. "But when it came down to it, I couldn't do anything. I couldn't hurt him at all." A drop of rain fell onto the grass in front of me. It was like a flood gate had been opened and I had no choice but to let it all out. "I just…sometimes I wish I could go back to the way things were. Sometimes I want a normal childhood. No death, no pain, no fighting. But…"

I took a deep shaky breath and gladly welcomed the wave of guilt that usually came after these thoughts. "But then I think of everything he's done for me—taking me into his home, making me his family, supporting me—and I feel like I wouldn't change the way things ended up at all. I have great friends, a cool after school job, and I have my new dad."

I reached up and traced the engraved letters of my father's grave stone. "He's not a replacement for you guys. I know that. What I want to know is, why us? Why our family?" But I knew my questions would remain unanswered.

Because I was really just talking to myself, wasting my breath.

I hear a car pull to a stop on the road behind me, but I didn't move. I just sat there trying to conjure up any other things that I felt needed to be said then. Nothing came to my mind immediately.

"Richard." The soft voice of my foster father standing behind me didn't startle me in the least. He sounded odd, concerned almost. I wasn't crying this time—not like the few tears that had accidentally escaped two years before.

I thought of the day of the funeral. I thought of the sadness that I had felt as an orphaned 8-year-old. Even more than that, though, I thought of that tiny spark of happiness when he introduced himself to me and asked me to live with him. That spark of happiness led me to this full-fledged fire. I thought of my friends and everyone I'd met since then. And I wouldn't change a single moment.

I stood up and turned to face my father. "Waiting on you now," I grinned, walking past him towards the car. I heard him chuckle lowly before he followed.

**So sorry if it's out of character. Couldn't let my teacher know it's fanfiction ;P**


	2. Bruce

**I decided to write Bruce's side of the story. Not necessarily his POV in the first person sense, but it definitely goes into what he was thinking and such.**

**ALSO NOTE: This takes place during the episode Denial when Robin was not on the mission with the rest of the team.**

"…You leave for this mission in an hour."

Batman sat in front of a large monitor displaying Aqualad and his team. They were all dressed in street clothes, none of them having any previous idea that there would be a mission.

"What about Robin?" Aqualad asked with his usual calmness.

"Robin has another mission. He will not be joining you," he replied, glancing to his right.

"Understood."

The screen shut off and Batman spun around in his chair. He moved his cowl, turning back into Bruce once again, and turned his attention to Dick. Dick sat cross-legged on a counter lining a side of the Batcave in his civvies, his bright blue eyes unshielded by a mask or sunglasses. He sat hunched over, his chin resting on his hand. They exchanged a long, wordless look.

"Still want to sit this one out?" he asked the boy softly, rising from the chair.

Dick slid off the counter looking solemn. "Being part of a team is knowing they'll be okay without you once in a while," he said airily with a shrug. "Besides, I missed it last year and haven't been since the year before. I should go. I need to go."

Bruce nodded in understanding. "Alfred will take you—I have a few more things to take care of here. But I'll meet you later." Dick nodded and tossed a wave over his shoulder as he left the cave.

Of course, there was really nothing Bruce _had _to do. He just wanted to give him some time alone with them. Bruce knew that's what Dick wanted—needed right now. He turned back to his computer and pulled up some old news articles. Bold headlines filled the screen.

FLYING GRAYSONS FALL TO DEATH

CIRCUS PERFORMERS LEAVE BEHIND SON

TONY ZUCCO CHARGED WITH MURDER

After skimming the first lines of each article, he closed all but one.

BRUCE WAYNE ADOPTS 9-YEAR-OLD

Some small part of him had always got a kick out of the fact that Clark Kent had written the article. Especially since that was before the League was formed. After reading the article for the millionth time since it had happened, he stood up and left to change and shower.

He took his time in the shower, wanting to kill as much time as possible. It made him think of everything. From the day he first saw Dick, to the day his parents died. Bruce knew the 9-year-old would never have been able to afford the funeral his parents deserved. And he knew Dick was grateful.

But then Bruce learned that Dick had no family left. Bruce had been in the same situation. With several differences. Bruce, too, had seen both his parents murdered, but he had had Alfred to depend on. And his family's money helped him create Batman. Dick had nothing—no one to depend on, no money, no home. He was more than willing to take the young boy in.

Bruce shut off the shower and changed into his civvies.

"Are you meeting Master Dick at the cemetery?" Alfred asked as Bruce walked down the stairs.

Bruce just nodded.

"Very well, Sir." Alfred spun on his heel and headed for the car, Bruce following closely behind.

It wasn't until Alfred pulled the car into the cemetery that Bruce remembered the last time Robin had visited their graves. Two years ago, Dick has snuck out of the house. It didn't take the detective long to find the boy, but when he did, he was surprised. He had been sitting on the ground crying silently. When Dick had realized Bruce was there, he tried to play it off, pretend he wasn't crying. They both knew no one was fooled.

The previous year, though, Batman and Robin had been away on a mission. It took longer than they thought. Bruce had thought Dick had forgotten about the anniversary, but it turned out he didn't. He was more upset about it than Bruce had initially realized. He had promised the boy to never let that happen again. That if there was a mission anywhere near the day, he would pass it off to someone else in the League.

The car stopped a few rows away from the graves, but Bruce had a clear shot of his back. He got out of the car and listened for a second, hoping he wasn't interrupting. When he heard nothing, he walked up behind him, glancing at the graves he had paid for 5 years ago.

"Richard."

He didn't move. Bruce began to think that the boy was crying, or that he wasn't finished. Several moments passed and just as Bruce opened his mouth to speak, Dick stood up and turned to face his mentor.

"Waiting on you now," he said with a grin, walking past him and heading for the car. Bruce chuckled half in relief and half in amusement and followed his son to the car.

**In case you didn't see before, this took place during the episode Denial when Robin was absent from the mission. Sorry for any OOCness. I try my best. **

**I REALLY tried not to make Bruce seem as cold on the inside as he is on the outside sometimes. And considering the circumstances, I figured he'd be a little softer.**


End file.
